


No Other Medicine

by Sanguineheroine



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slash, Wilson is Houseproud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguineheroine/pseuds/Sanguineheroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wilson hopes and is fulfilled, and House helps Wilson uphold his 'reputation'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Other Medicine

The miserable have no other medicine  
But only hope  
 _William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure_

 

"So," you ask me, arms still damp and shining but crossed with careful casualness behind your head "was it everything you imagined?"

"I never really imagined it at all." The lie is easy, nonchalant, though I turn my face away and study the ceiling to keep you from studying me. "It's not like I was just waiting for the right time to say 'Hey, guess what? I want to get naked with you.'"

Your laughter is as sudden and sharp as ever, but the hysterical edge is softened and when you talk I can hear your smile.

"Because God forbid we should ever do anything the _easy_ way."

"You didn't seem to mind the _hard_ way a little while ago." The double entendre is obvious and childish but it's worth the humiliation just to see the way your eyebrows lift in surprise.

"Wilson, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No,” I say slyly "but I do kiss you."

If anyone had seen us at that moment they would have thought us both to be completely crazy. Two grown men laid out on the rug, giggling like lunatics, in nothing but their socks. When I get up later to go to the kitchen for beer and damp paper towels I can still hear you, mumbling in between hiccupping laughs.

I set the beers down on the coffee table, which had somehow ended up at right angles to the couch and stretch out again on the rug. You prop yourself up on one elbow to reach your beer and I watch the play of your muscles under skin striped light and dark by the windows. You raise the beer in a mock toast.

"To your momma, Wilson."

"To your momma, House." And with that, we drink in silence. You thirstily, throat working to empty the bottle and I'm hard again just watching, knowing how you can make me feel. There's something else on my mind though, and I've got to come clean. So to speak.

"I lied." You look at me, eyes narrowed.

"How completely unlike you." You push the now-empty beer away. "I told you, if you keep telling Cuddy that her ass looks fine, she's going to eventually work out my plan to crush her self esteem."

Sigh.

"I'm serious House-"

"So am I!" You interrupt "The hospital just isn't big enough for my ego, her ego _and_ her breasts. One of them has to go, and I'm not about to suggest she get rid of the girls."

"Look, if we could get of the subject of Cuddy's breasts for just a moment, I-"

"We _could_ talk about your breasts, but, uh" you gestured to my chest "quod erat demonstratum."

"I've got plenty of other body parts for you to talk about," I say helpfully "but I'm afraid you're just going to have to hear _me_ out first."

You seem satisfied, at least for the immediate present, to be quiet and listen. I take a deep breath.

"I lied before, when you asked me if this was how I imagined it." To your credit, you seem only a little surprised.

"I _did_ imagine it. A _few_ times. Maybe more than a few. I don't know." I run my hand nervously over my hair and then realised how silly I must look, given that I was lying naked on your living room floor. "But what I imagined was nothing like this." I gesture vaguely to the two of us. You look like you have something to say, so I rush to get the words out before I lose my nerve.

"I always thought that you'd be more, I don't know...You." _Very eloquent, James_ I think to myself.

"As opposed to now, when I'm not me. Who exactly am I? Julie?" You don't give me even a moment before answering your own question "No, definitely not. Chase? Nope, still American. Foreman? No, not black. That nurse from paediatrics with the red hair? Another big no, although I might look fetching as a red head." You seemed content to let that thought hang in the air while I composed myself.

"I guess I mean that I always _hoped_ for you to be like this: Relaxed, not so sharp around the edges, gentle, even. I mean, look at you” I put my hand to your face, tracing your smile with my thumb "you're _laughing_ , and it's almost not at someone else's expense." I slide my hand around the back of your head, drawing us together until our noses touch and your breath is a warm tickle on my lips.

"This is who I thought you could be, right from the day we met. I'm glad I was able to see it tonight, even if I never see it again." You draw in a sharp, hitching breath at this.

" _Is_ it just for tonight?" You've made yourself to vulnerable, and you rush to cover up "Because if it is, there's some other positions I want to try. In fact,” you grope around in an imaginary pocket "I have a list here somewhere."

"Never mind” you leave off the miming and rest your hand on your thigh, kneading the scarred skin absently "must have left it in my other pants."

I tighten my fingers and tug just firmly enough to draw your head back, deliberately locking your eyes with mine. I kiss you, trying to draw out all of your bravado and uncertainty, tracing patterns of reassurance on the roof of your mouth, over your teeth and on the inside of your lip. I pull away gently but still you tense, eyes open and immediately alert.

"You were a rude, miserable bastard when I came here tonight. You will be a rude, miserable bastard tomorrow at breakfast and probably at lunch too." I kiss you gently, quickly, to take the sting out of my words. "But I'll keep coming back in the hope that sometimes I might get a glimpse of the person you are right now."

"I can't promise that, but I can promise you a glimpse of my fantastic body." Your eyes are wicked again, vulnerability not forgotten but cast aside in favour of libido. I meet your eyes with a smile.

"I guess I can live with that."

"Now," you growl, pulling me to you with a sudden lithe movement "what was this about me being gentle?" The kiss is searing, devouring; heat and wet and teeth clicking and fingernails scoring my skin. My heart speeds and my breath comes in desperate pants and then you pull away and your throaty words are hot against my neck.

"I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

"That's not your reputation you're holding, you know." I groan, one last parting shot before you begin in earnest to pull apart my reason. You laugh is a shaky shivery tickle against my collarbone, then my chest and then it's just teeth and warm breath tongue on every inch of my skin.

Your kisses come back to my neck and jaw and then my lips, slow and lazy now like the rhythmic slide of your hand between our bodies. Your tongue circles mine, and your thumb circles the head of my cock, spreading silvery wetness that heats and cools with the motion of your fingers. Hot and cold and pressure spiral up my spine in a shimmering thread of pleasure that turns _please_ and _now_ and _harder_ into artless moans that you greedily swallow.

Your kisses grow forceful and urgent, full of hitching breath and whispered words. I can feel the wet shift of your cock against mine, and the sight of them both encircled by your long fingers is too much. I shut my eyes and whisper your name, surrendering to my orgasm with a low keening cry.

Your pleasure is uncharacteristically silent, nothing more than a whisper and the bright pain of your teeth, biting deep into my shoulder.

Afterwards I pull you into the shower and we stand together for long moments under the water, you leaning against the wall and me leaning against you. When the water turns cool we shuffle out to the bed without drying off and lie sprawled across the sheets, damp limbs drying in the breeze from the open window.

"So,” I ask you conversationally "was it everything _you_ imagined."

"More or less," you say thoughtfully "although I always thought maybe Cuddy would be here watching." You think for a moment and then add "I might have just _hoped_ Cuddy would be watching."

You roll over to face me, lecherous grin firmly in place.

"What do you say, Wilson? I fulfil your hopes by being less of a miserable bastard, and maybe you could fulfil mine?"

I kiss you until the grin is replaced by soft sighs and then settle back into the pillow.

"Good night, House"

You snort.

"I guess some things will _never_ change." I hear you shuffling around, shifting pillows, then feel the warmth of you against my side, arm across my chest.

"Goodnight, Wilson."


End file.
